Greeted by her doctor at the finish line, he was equally proud and concerned for the oldest woman to complete a marathon.“We should get you back to the hospital. I need to run some tests.”“This was the test,” she barked, bent over pointing behind her, “I think I passed.”“Do you have any pain? Soreness? Did you hear any popping sounds?” He asked.She outlived the warranty on her hips, and this would be her third set. She ran every year and most years her legs out fought her joints. Her muscles crushing the lightweight alloy plates and carbon fiber pins. Doctors would bid every year to be the ones to try and put her back together; to be the ones to keep her running. A semi-celebrity status grew out of this cornerstone challenge.Later that night over a celebratory dinner, they debated who’s lifetime achievement was greater.“I built the artificial hip that you couldn’t break.” He laid back smirked.“I am the oldest woman to run a marathon.” She responded.They declared it again and again, never tired of hearing it. And, yet, without each other, their achievements in separate, wouldn’t exist.

"Five Stars! ....For readers who are looking for a book filled with great, thought-provoking human interest stories, Your Smallest Bones is unquestionably your next best read." - San Francisco Book Review